


you set my soul on fire

by juliusschmidt



Series: harry, you little shit [15]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Sex, Bonding, Fluff, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Minor Angst, Misogyny, Oral Sex, Romance, Smut, Tattoos, Weddings, did i mention romance and fluff???, sort of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-20
Updated: 2015-08-30
Packaged: 2018-04-05 07:10:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4170708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juliusschmidt/pseuds/juliusschmidt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry and Louis negotiate all kinds of expectations as they prepare for their bonding ceremony and ritual.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is the final part of the series (which starts [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/946132)), at least for a while, and it'll have five fluffy, smutty chapters. 
> 
> i'll be mostly without internet next friday and saturday, so next week's chapter will go up on sunday. 
> 
> melanie has, as usual, done a wonderful, patient beta job. 
> 
> title comes from [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cBDqgSOwxkc). 
> 
> enjoy!

“How did he ask you?” Harry’s mother’s voice breaks on the last word and Harry imagines her sitting at the kitchen counter wiping a tear out of the corner of her eye. 

All she’s ever wanted was for him to be happy and safe, and, in her mind, finding the right bondmate (or, perhaps, _any_ bondmate) is key.

He turns the handle on the door and steps into his flat. It smells sweet and spicy- his and Louis’ scents mingling deliciously, but also a bit like pine. He can’t think of anyone they know who smells like pine.

“Harry?” His mum prompts. “Did he get down on his knees? To show you he’ll be yours, too? I saw that in a movie once and thought it’d be something you’d like.”

Harry hums, trying to think of a way to steer the conversation elsewhere. He’d been excited to tell his mum about him and Louis, about how they’d decided to be together for good, but he hadn’t thought the conversation all the way through, of course.

Because Louis hasn’t _actually_ asked him to bond. And Harry really shouldn’t care because they’ve agreed and they’ll do it- formally seal the connection that’s been growing between them since the beginning- during his next heat.

Louis doesn’t need to ask, not really. Harry’s already told him.

And, on top of that, he’s made it quite clear to Louis that he doesn’t want to do things the usual way, that he doesn’t want Louis calling all the shots, that he- _Harry-_ wants to be out front sometimes, being seen and making the grand gestures.

So it shouldn’t matter to Harry that Louis hasn’t, like, done the formal asking. And it doesn’t, not really.

But it does matter to other people, like the boys, like Harry’s mum.

“What movie was that in? The kneeling thing?” Harry asks. He’s never heard of anything like that before and his mum is right; he probably would go for a symbolic gesture like that.

He hears a banging ring out from the kitchen and the noise almost drowns out his mum saying, “I’m trying to remember…”

“Harry?” Louis must have heard him come in the door. “Harry?” His voice draws closer, as does his scent.

Harry kicks off his shoes. “Mum, I’ve got to go.”

“Hey,” she says, tone scolding. “You still haven’t told me the story!”

Louis appears in front of him sweaty, fringe falling into his eyes, and carrying a frying pan. He’s grinning. “Harry!”

“I’ve just gotten home, mum. And I need to talk to Louis about dinner.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got it all sorted,” Louis exclaims brightly, waving the pan. “Hullo, Anne,” he says, a little louder.

Harry bites his lip. “Lou says ‘hi’.”

Harry’s mum laughs. “Give him a kiss for me. And call back tomorrow. I want to know what to tell my friends. How he asked and when you think _it_ might happen and whether you plan to give me grandchildren sooner or later.”

“Later, mum, later,” he says, Louis’ moving in closer, waggling his eyebrows and tossing the pan into the air. Harry tries to cover a laugh.  

“Goodbye, darling. I love you.”

“Bye, mum, love you, too,” he replies, finding the end call button just as Louis leans in to bite gently at the mark on Harry’s neck.

It’s gotten much brighter over the last few days and, painful though it can be, Harry likes it.

But just as the sting of Louis’ teeth zips down his spine and settles near his groin, Harry’s stomach lets out a groan. Louis pulls back, cackling.

“Hungry?” He asks.

“Yeah,” Harry nods, moving past him toward the kitchen. “I was thinking chicken something? We have all that--”

The farther he makes his way into the house, the sharper the woody scent he’d noticed earlier becomes. He stops, as does Louis, wrapping an arm around Harry from behind.

“Did you clean?” Harry hears the disbelief in his voice. He knows it’s probably rude.  But he feels disbelieving. Louis never cleans. Harry wasn’t sure he knew how.

Louis nods into his shoulder. “You’ve left this place a right mess, lately,” Louis mutters.

Harry laughs. The place had been a mess, as Louis had somehow turned it into a hazardous waste zone in the two days he’d lived alone before moving in with Zayn and Harry hadn’t had time to do much more than move his stuff back and tidy since they’ve gotten back from LA.

Harry picks up another scent as they enter the kitchen. Food. “Chicken?”

Louis lifts the foil off of a pan of spaghetti and grins at Harry. “I made it myself.”

“You did?” Again, Harry shouldn’t be so surprised at Louis’ domestic prowess. It’s just, “You never cook. You hate cooking.”

Louis shrugs. “I figured you probably had a hard day.”

Harry sniffs at the spaghetti suspiciously. “You thought I had a hard day at the doctor?”

“Like, what did he say?”

Harry laughs again, reaching into the cupboard to pull down a couple of plates. Louis grabs his arm. “I already set the table.”

Harry picks up the pan and follows him into the dining area. They’d walked through it before, but Harry hadn’t noticed the wine and the candles.

Slowly he says, “He said that it’s a good thing we want to bond. Because we are pretty much bonded, and it’d be pretty awful to separate at this point. Which we knew already.”

“So we’re safe, then, for your next heat? To do it for real? With intent?” Louis sits down, eyes narrowed and watching Harry very closely.

Harry nods and sits.

There’s a card on his plate. He looks up and meets Louis’ eyes. “What’s this?”

Louis sips his wine and, smacking his lips, mutters, “Open it, my god, Harry! We don’t have all night. Why are you asking me all these questions about my day?”

Harry raises an eyebrow and slowly, very, _very_ slowly runs his knife along the seam of the envelope.

Louis huffs and crosses his arms. “Come _on_.”

Harry runs finger over the rough open edge of the envelop and then meets Louis’ eyes. “My mum sent me a letter the other day…”

Louis reaches across the table and snatches the paper out of Harry’s hands. He withdraws a letter and unfolds it carefully before handing it back to Harry. “Read.”

Louis’ printing looks neat, like he’d taken his time. And it would have taken him time, too, cause it’s long, his words taking up the bulk of two sheets.

Harry licks his lips and does as Louis has asked.

It’s Louis’ handwriting, of course, but smaller and neater than Harry’s ever seen it. Louis begins the letter by recounting his favorite moments they’ve spent together. Harry bites his lip and regards Louis through his lashes as he recalls the day that Louis had asked him to move in.

Louis shakes his head. “ _Keep reading._ ”

His pulse picks up and a low thrum of arousal hums through his veins as he reads that the first heat they’d spent together in that sterile hotel room had meant as much to Louis as it had to him.  

He’s aware of Louis’ eyes fixed firmly on him. Louis is uncharacteristically still. Harry doesn’t even hear him breathing and he knows.

This is it. This is what he was waiting for. Louis is asking him to bond. Here, before a dinner he’s prepared, in their home that he’s cleaned, with a note that he’s written, all done with love and painstaking care.

The giddy rush that accompanies the realization is almost too much. Harry wants to skip the rest of the letter and launch himself into Louis’ arms with a _yes yes yes yes_.

But he also wants to savor every word, draw out the moment, make it last as long as possible.

“Have you got to the end?” Louis’ voice wavers and Harry feels his nervousness shudder through the room. “I’m not, like,-”

“I’m not done,” Harry cuts him off, shooting a smile.

The next part is a little more difficult to read. Louis lists things he loves- _loves_ \- about Harry and it’s a long list.

His curls and his smell, of course, and his voice, okay. His arse and his dimples, his abs and his smarts. It’s not like Harry doesn’t think he’s that awesome, and these initial compliments he can handle. They’re predictable, things fangirls tweet him all the time.

But Louis also lists Harry’s willingness to try new things and Harry’s too loud laugh (bursting out with abandon whenever Louis tells a penis joke) and the sheet marks that show up on Harry’s face every single morning (because he sleeps still and hard on his side.)

These are silly little things, things Harry didn’t expect Louis to notice, let alone _love_.

Harry rolls his shoulders and flips to the next page. Louis begins to list his hopes.

He hopes to spend the rest of his life with Harry, every concert, every heat, every morning and every night. He hopes they make a life together, a home, maybe kids.

_Harry, I hope that we can build a connection that makes us both happy, forever. I hope you want to bond. I’m waiting for you to ask._

_All my love,_

_Louis_

I’m waiting for you to ask.

Harry reads the last sentence again.

I’m waiting for you to ask.

And again. He looks up and sure enough Louis’ chin is tucked down, his eyes are wide, and he’s biting his lip. Harry’s never seen him looks so vulnerable, so completely open and uncertain.

Harry feels both their hearts pounding together too fast and too loud.

He sets the letter down on the table, takes a deep breath, and reaches for the spaghetti.

Louis shifts in his seat and says, “Oh, yeah. I guess you’re hungry.” He lifts his wine glass to his mouth and downs what’s left of it all at once. A stray drop dribbles out of the corner of his mouth and he swipes at it with the back of his hand.

Harry can’t help it. He’s unsuccessful at stifling a giggle.

Louis glares at him. “Seriously. I just bared my soul to you and now you’re laughing at me?”

Harry feels his face soften and bites his own lip, mimicking Louis’ earlier nervousness. Louis tilts his head to the side and the room suddenly reeks, again, of anticipation.

Harry doesn’t know what to do, is the thing. He’s never thought about proposing- how he’d do it, what he’d say. He wants to bond with Louis, absolutely, and he _loves_ that Louis is waiting for him to ask, but he feels a little put on the spot.

He’d like to finish his meal, sleep on it, take the time to plan something elaborate and romantic and perfect- like people do in the movies.

He wants to have a gift for Louis- a ring, or maybe a collar. Or, ideally, plans and cash for couples tattoos.

Instead, all he has is an empty stomach, this moment, and Louis, with his heart poured out on paper, waiting.

He takes one last breath and goes for it, because, he figures, that’s all he really needs, after all.

Remembering his earlier phone conversation with his mother, he slips out of his seat and drops to his knees beside Louis’ chair. He knows the drama of the gesture she was relaying lies in the fact that it was the alpha on his knees, _the alpha_ showing his willingness to do _anything_ for his omega, and Harry’s no alpha. But as he watches Louis’ eyes widen and his nostrils flare, as he takes in the curious, hopeful smile that teases at Louis’ lips, Harry knows that it’s a gesture that will mean something between them, as well.

He grabs Louis’ hand in his own, as Louis turns his body so he’s looking straight down into Harry’s eyes. Their combined scents wrap around them.

“Louis…” Harry begins and then pauses because he’s not sure what comes next.

Louis squeezes his hands and nods, his fringe falling into his eyes. Harry swallows and then smiles.

“Babe?” Louis says after a moment, his voice soft, lifting the word up in a hopeful question.

Harry frowns at him. “Don’t interrupt.”

Louis chuckles and nods again, looking down at their hands. Harry looks down, too, and, seeing them linked together physically settles the butterflies that had begun to flutter wildly in his belly after finishing Louis’ letter. This is _right_ , he thinks, _we’re good together_.

“Louis,” he tries again. “You’re wonderful. And you love me. Like, I know it took me awhile to figure out that we could, you know, be the way we are and also, maybe bonded, but I know now and…”

His mind rushes to find the right words. It’s not easy.

“Harry,” Louis prompts again, voice a little sharper than before, though still breathy, amused and affectionate, or at least these are the feelings he’s sending in warm shivers through Harry’s body. “Just ask me.”

Harry nods and straightens his shoulders. “Okay, yeah.”

Louis raises an eyebrow.

“Louis.” Louis nods. He’s beaming now, Harry realizes, and Harry is, too. “Louis, will you be my bondmate, my alpha, like, for _forever_?”

Louis laughs, nods, whispers _yes_ , and kisses Harry all at once. Harry kisses him back, and he’s laughing too, as Louis pulls him up to straddle his lap.

Their next kiss is long and deep and sweet and when Louis pulls away, he’s panting and his lips are wet and swollen and all Harry wants is to kiss him again. So he does. Just a short kiss, a peck, delivered with a giggle.

Louis’ hands, which had been gripping Harry’s hips, drift down to cup his arse. Into Harry’s ear, he murmurs, “Do you want to eat the dinner I cooked for us, or what?”

Harry turns so that he can press his own lips to Louis’ ear. “Or what,” he murmurs. “Definitely ’or what.’”

Louis’ hands tighten, and the motion pulls him more firmly against Louis’ cock. Harry groans and arches his back so that their chests are touching, too.

“Can we fuck at the table? In celebration?” Louis asks in a whisper, but it’s not really a question because his hands are coming up underneath Harry’s shirt and pulling it over his head. The collar catches in Harry’s hair, though, and while he struggles to untangle it, Louis tugs off his own top.

Finally freed, Harry runs his hands over Louis bare chest. “We should get tattoos,” he suggests. “You know, as our bonding gifts to each other.”

Louis takes a deep breath. “I never really…”

Harry knows Louis isn’t the biggest fan of tattoos, so he pouts and cants his hips. “Come on. It’d be sick.”

Louis chews his lip. “For you?”

Harry leans forward and kisses him. “For us.”

“I’ve thought about, like, a bird…” Louis murmurs, his forefingers drawing circles around Harry’s nipples.  

The thought of Louis marked for _him_ and the sensation of Louis’ fingertips pressing so close to his sensitive nubs together push Harry forward into another hungry kiss.

He wraps his legs around Louis’ waist and the back of his chair. He feels Louis’ cock jump and then Louis’ lips are on his neck. “Why do you still have trousers on?”

Harry lets his head fall back as Louis begins to slather his throat with wet kisses. Roughly, he replies, “Why do you?”

It takes them a couple of minutes and some hopping around to get themselves fully naked, partly because Louis, claiming to be overwhelmed by Harry’s intoxicating scent, keeps interrupting the process. First a slap on Harry’s arse, then a pinch of his already tender nipples, and finally a deep kiss punctuated with a rough grind.

A rough grind that has Harry tripping over the trousers still pooled around his ankles and clutching tightly, one hand at Louis’ shoulder and the other at the tabletop.

As soon as Harry extricates himself from his trousers, Louis’ at him again, sitting back down, pulling Harry onto his lap, and nipping Harry’s collarbones all in seemingly the same moment.  

Harry steadies himself using Louis’ shoulders. “Fuck, Lou,” he gasps.

Louis’ mouth moves down his chest, but he pauses above Harry’s right nipple to murmur, “You’re sure about this? You’re sure you want to bond?”

Harry slips his fingers into Louis’ hair and tries to tug his head backward so he can look into Louis’ eyes. Louis doesn’t let him, biting his pec hard in response.

It’s an odd moment to ask, tangled up in each other as they are, bodies and scents and futures already intertwined, but Harry gets it. “Yeah,” Harry says. “I am.”

If it was anyone else asking for the bond, any other alpha he’s ever met, even Zayn or Niall, Harry’s answer would be different. But he trusts Louis. He lets his fingers wind more deeply into Louis’ hair and presses forward so that Louis can feel Harry’s dick, hard against his stomach.

“With me?” Louis asks. “Even with me?”

Harry holds down a laugh, and lets his nails run gently along Louis’ scalp. “Only with you,” Harry replies and Louis moans and lifts his hips.

Harry allows himself to focus on the feel of Louis’ length sliding smoothly along the crack of his arse. It’s wet down there from his slick, but probably also from Louis’ leaking dick.  

Finally, Louis leans his head back so that they can look into one another eyes. His forehead is lined with tension and glistens with sweat. Harry licks his lips. “What?” he asks.

“You,” Louis replies. “You’re so…”

Louis shakes his head, clearly at a loss for words, and Harry reaches a hand down and between them to grip Louis’ cock. "What?" he asks again.

Louis finally breathes out, “I love you, that’s all.”

Just as Louis is says the words, Harry manages to guide the tip of Louis’ cock into his hole and the combination of pressure and emotion crashes over Harry, making him gasp. He pauses for a long moment to catch his breath and then he slowly, carefully lowers himself onto Louis’ dick.

Louis’ hands have found their way to Harry’s waist and his fingertips rest lightly atop Harry’s now damp skin.

When Louis is all the way inside him, Harry presses their foreheads together and whispers, “I know. I love you, too.”

Louis cants his hips up, and the motion jostles Harry a little. He takes the hint and begins to move.

Louis’ nails dig into his back, dragging down and down, almost matching the rhythm that Harry’s begun to create. Both of them are gasping for breath and Harry feels a familiar pull like a rope binding them together. He’d felt it come alive during his last heat and while he’s been aware of it since, hanging loosely around them, this is the first time it’s pulled taught.   

Harry thinks Louis feels it, too, because he whines and his hips stutter. He’s close to peaking and Harry pushes down harder. He can feel Louis’ knot full and hot as he begins to let loose inside Harry.

Harry doesn’t slow his rocking, even as Louis’ seed starts to drip from his arse. He’s never felt this close to anyone, ever. _We’re bonding, really truly bonding,_ Harry thinks. _During my next heat, it’ll be for real. Forever._

“Fuck,” Louis mutters, running a finger through growing puddle of come on his stomach. “I didn’t even get a hand on you.”

Harry coughs through a laugh, feeling a little unsteady. He hadn’t been prepared for his orgasm either. Louis sticks his dirty finger into his mouth and sucks, hollowing out his cheeks. _He’s so fucking beautiful._ Pulling it out with a pop, he says, “You taste so good. How do you always taste so good.”

Harry laughs for real, then, and presses a kiss to Louis’ forehead. “Gross. I think it’s just you. And, you know, our bond.”

“Our bond,” Louis replies, nodding. His eyes are wide and he sounds kind of awed. Harry knows exactly how he feels.  

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much love to my beta Melanie who had to teach me about tattoos this week. ;) 
> 
> HAPPY RAINBOWS EVERYONE!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Harry’s lying on his stomach mostly naked fucking around on his computer, so he has to twist round to see Louis come into the bedroom with a swagger and happy glow. The latter heats Harry’s skin and he smiles. Louis’ footie team must’ve pulled out a win, despite his earlier anxious shouting. Harry feels happy, too, and happier still when Louis flops down on the bed, rolling into Harry’s side with a laugh.

Harry tilts his laptop screen so that Louis can see the page he’s looking at: _Tattoos for Couples_ the banner atop the slideshow reads. Currently up: infinity signs.

“I just looked at a couple of matching heartbeats, but that’s a bit much, I think. Might as well get each other’s names, in that case. I want something more subtle.”

He glances at Louis for approval and Louis smiles, but it’s strained. Maybe he’d like something dramatic and obvious, like heartbeats or names or faces. Or maybe he’s having second thoughts. Maybe he doesn’t want tattoos at all.

“What?” Harry asks, pulling the computer back toward himself. While he waits for Louis to answer, he flips through the next few pictures in the slideshow without really seeing them.

Louis shakes his head and says, “You’re serious about the tattoos?”

Harry tries not to stiffen defensively, but he’s not successful. He knows he’s not. “Why? You’re not?” He spits back.

Louis tilts his head, a little line of worry appearing between his brows. “If we got them, everyone would know.”

Harry closes the computer, rolls onto his back, and folds his arms across his chest. Louis follows him, rolling closer and keeping his body pressed tight to Harry’s.

“Do you really want everyone to know?” Louis tries to pull apart Harry’s arms as he asks.

Harry shakes Louis off and closes his eyes. “You don’t, then?”

As soon as he says it, anger floods Harry’s body, a powerful rush of heat from head to toe. How dare Louis say that he’s okay with them being, well, like they are, _different_ , that he’d want Harry to keep working and having his own friends and making his own choices, _but_ only so long as other people don’t know.

It _hurts_ that Louis apparently can’t stand the thought of people knowing that he is the type of alpha who would allow such behavior from his mate.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong, love?” Louis asks, voice soft. “Tell me why you’re upset.”

The panic in Louis’ voice settles Harry a little.

“You can feel how angry I am,” Harry acknowledges, his others line of thought stopping dead. Louis can feel what he’s feeling, raw and real and heavy, just as deeply as Harry feels him. Harry’s known for a while now, that Louis would receive little hints, but this response confirms for Harry that, at least in this, they’re on level ground.

Nodding, Louis brings a hand to rest on Harry’s cheek. “Yeah, course I can. I’m your mate.”

“Almost,” Harry reminds him. “Almost my mate.”

Louis makes a face. “But you said that the doctor said-“

“Why don’t you want people to know about us?” Harry cuts him off because he wants Louis to say it, wants Louis to admit he’s secretly at least a little ashamed of Harry and his peculiarities.

“What? No! I want to tell everyone,” Louis insists nonsensically.

Harry’s confusion must show because Louis continues. “I want to tell everyone about us. I want to mark you up so that everyone who sees you will know that you’re taken, that you’re mine. Of course, I want that,” he pauses, flushing, and then adds, “Like, there’s nothing more appealing than you taking a permanent mark, one that we choose together- one that matches me.  It kind of turns me on, if I’m honest.”

Harry believes him. He even feels a small tickle of arousal as Louis speaks. “Then why?”

Louis presses a kiss to Harry’s jaw. “I just thought that maybe you wouldn’t want it. If I were you, I’d want people to continue thinking I was an alpha.”

Harry chews his lip. He’s thought about this a bit. Like, he realizes that people would probably talk (more) shit about him and that he’d probably have more difficulty going out in public and stuff. He’s seen the type of shit that Nick has to put up with and a lot of it is pretty damn unpleasant.

“I don’t want to lie anymore,” Harry murmurs, speaking slow and deliberate. “And, like, I think it might be good for other young omegas, you know, to see someone like them, doing what I’m doing. Yeah,” he continues, feeling more confident the longer he speaks. “I think I’d really like for people to know and, like, it’d be easier with you by my side.”

Louis frowns, eyes wide and uncertain. “Are you certain? I would be by your side, but it’s still gonna be so much more difficult for you.”

Harry leans up to kiss him. It’s a firm press of lips, wet and sure. Harry pulls back and says, “Let’s do it.”

Louis nods, firmly. “Okay, then. Let’s do it.”

~

When they’re seated across from the suits Harry realizes how foolish they’ve been to think this would be his and Louis’ decision.

“So you want the fans to know you’re an omega?” It’s the second time the man with the fancy glasses has asked this question. The first time he’d directed it at Louis who’d refused to answer for Harry with snide lift of his chin. But now that the question has rightly been directed at him, Harry has to resist the urge to check in with Louis before nodding.

He finally agrees with a quiet, “Yes.”

The man’s forehead wrinkles with dissatisfaction. He looks at Louis. “And that’s okay with you? For your omega to be out and still in the band?”

Louis nods. “I want him to make his own career choices. He’s good at this. He enjoys it.” Louis voices is hard and Harry can hear his impatience.

The man adjusts his glasses and looks at his companion who’s shaking his head. The second man says, “I just think it’s too much of a risk. Girls aren’t interested in male omega’s, especially not _bonded_ ones.”

“They like Harry,” Louis mutters and the man’s eyes flick to him. He’s been looking at Harry as he’s spoken, Harry realizes with a flush. That’s unusual, _nice_.

The man nods at Louis, but it’s a tight movement and the grim downturn of his lips hint that he doesn’t quite agree. His eyes return to Harry and they’re are sad as he continues, “Mr. Styles, Mr. Tomlinson is right. You’re very popular, as it is. I don’t think it’s really the best choice for you to come out, not if you want your career to continue to flourish to its full potential.”

Harry chews his lip. The man might be right. He _does_ want to be a star, like _forever._ He likes being on stage almost as much as he likes being in bed with Louis and that’s saying a lot. He wants a life where he can do both without worry.

“The numbers-” the man in the glasses begins, but the other man, the one who’s been really looking at Harry, cuts him off with a look.

“My son is like you,” he says. “Ten or so years older, probably, and smaller, softer. His mate left him two years ago, left him with their two kids. Alone. He can’t get a job or find a place to stay, not on his own. I’d never wish that on _anyone._ ” His voice cracks on the last sentence.

He’s an alpha, Harry thinks, most of the suits are, and he’s had to witness the worst of what omega’s deal with.

“I’m not going to leave,” Louis insists.

The man turns to look at Louis, shaking his head. “What if you _die_? What happens to him, then?”

Harry’s heart jumps in his chest. That’s an ugly thought, one that hadn’t occurred to him. He wants to think that the other boys would stand up for him, make sure he was taken care of- but if they have their own families, their own lives, their own omegas- that won’t help much.

“Maybe you’re right,” Harry says softly, looking down at the table. It’s bare save the small stack of papers underneath the kind man’s folded hands.

“The fuck he is,” Louis spits. “People aren’t going to stop liking you because you’re not an alpha. That’s not how it works. You’re the favorite, Harry, and that’s not going to stop being true. You said you wanted to stop hiding, so let’s fucking do it.”

It’s a change of tone from earlier and the fierceness of it zips through Harry, lifting his spirits. Harry presses their legs together under the table in thanks.

“Are you thinking of yourself, your desire for people to know that he’s claimed- he’s yours- or are you thinking of Harry, the kind of flack he’ll get, the way it’ll most certainly ruin his career? Who’s best interest do you have at heart?” The man shoots back, bitterness clear in his voice.

Harry thinks he might not be speaking to Louis. He might be speaking his ex-son-in-law.

“I don’t think _you_ have Harry’s best interests at heart,” Louis bites back, and Harry’s glad he’s strong, glad he doesn’t let people fuck with either of them. “If you did, you’d listen to him.”

The man sighs. “You boys need to think long-term. For now, Harry’s signed a contract saying he’ll keep his gender a secret and we’re not willing to renegotiate at this point. That’s working quite well, especially in conjunction with your relationship to Eleanor. Right now, coming out is not the best for the band and it’s definitely not the best for him. We can talk again before you start to promote your album in the fall.”

He stands abruptly, making it clear to everyone that the conversation is over and that, in fact, it never was an open conversation in the first place.

His partner with the glasses stands, too, nodding at Louis. “Congratulations, mate, on the bonding.”

“Not your mate,” Louis spits.

The other man tucks his stack of papers under his arm and meets Harry’s eyes. “I wish my son had found someone as protective Mr. Tomlinson. I mean it when I say I want the best for you.”  

Harry nods. He believes him.

~

“You need to talk to the lawyers straight away,” Liam says. “That’s not fair. They can’t make you keep it a secret.”

They’re piled into Louis’ Range Rover, with Zayn and Liam and Niall in the back and Harry with his legs stretched out before him in the passenger seat. Louis’ just caught them all up on the proposal and the meeting with the suits.

When Louis talks about his life, his own character varies wildly from story to story, as true today as ever. In the former, with Harry, he’d framed himself the bumbling idiot who’d fucked up his whole plan but still managed to land his lad and in the latter, with the management reps, he was the much wronged hero betrayed by those supposed to be looking after him. Harry thinks he might have the roles mixed up.

“We have talked to the lawyers, Liam,” Louis replies, voice shrill. “We dialled them right away, on the car ride home.” They had, too. Louis had saved their number in his favorites ages ago.

“They told you couldn’t do shit, didn’t they?” Zayn mutters. “I could have predicted that one.”

His eyes are on Harry, but his words are clearly directed at Louis. Harry answers, “Fuck off. You’re no expert.”

The hostility Zayn had developed toward Harry during Harry and Louis’ separation hasn’t really softened. Last week he’d thrown an arm protectively around Harry when one of their producers, who, to Harry’s surprise, had been let in on his secret, leered menacingly at Harry during a playback. But then, as soon as the other man left the room, Zayn had shoved Harry away from him with a frown and a, “Watch yourself,” as though it were somehow Harry’s fault for he’d been hit on.

Louis turns to look at Harry, his eyebrows pinched. After a heavy moment, he looks back at the road.

“Yeah,” Louis says. “We don’t really have much of a choice, because of the contract, in terms of going public with our relationship and Harry’s gender. We do have some control of the situation, though.” As he finishes the sentence he pulls into a dimly lit lot and parks the car. There’s only two other cars in the lot, both at least a decade old, and enough trash littering the ground to feed an entire army of rats.  

“Where are we?” Niall asks. He doesn’t sound afraid, but Harry can smell it on him. Zayn, too.

Liam says, “I am not going into this place. Where the fuck even are we?”

A blue neon on sign flickers in the door- ‘TAT O  S’, it reads.

“Oh no,” Liam says. “This cannot be sanitary. Louis, you honestly can’t be thinking this is a good idea.”

Harry takes a deep breath before speaking. Louis’ the one with the wild ideas and Harry’s the one Liam can usually convince to be sensible.

“I researched the place.” Harry opens the door. “They’re licensed and sanitary and _good_.”

Louis opens his own door, while flipping through pictures on his phone.  His finger hovers over a picture they’d found on this tattoo parlour’s website: a beautiful old ship. Harry’d immediately been drawn to it, and thinks he might have it inked into his upper arm, but not tonight.

Louis holds it out for the boys in the back to see.

“Sick, bro,” Zayn murmurs. “Good choice.”

“Okay, but I’m really not sure about the neighborhood. If they’re so good, why do they operate out of this shithole?” Niall asks, his worry finally beginning to creep into his tone.

“Maybe they like it here,” Zayn returns, opening his door and climbing out onto the pitted blacktop.

Harry follows suit, saying over his shoulder, “They’re willing to tattoo omegas, for the right price, which is what matters.”

“Nobody who first meets you thinks you’re an omega,” Niall says, from the rear of the group, as he slams the door of the car.

“You were just complaining about how mated we smell, you prick.” Louis voice lilts over the words so they come out soft. Harry’s belly flutters. Louis’ so _happy_ with him, with them, and Harry doesn’t understand it, but he’s happy, too. For now, he supposes, that’s what matters.

“Niall’s statement still stands, mate,” Liam returns. He’s a little awkward and tentative in his delivery, but the comment riles Louis all the same and he shoves Liam rather hard toward the door of the tattoo parlour and the ominous sign.

“What are you getting?” Zayn asks. “Each others faces tattooed over you hearts?”

Harry can’t lie. He’d seriously considered that, or rather, he’d seriously considered having something representing Louis placed right over his heart. It feels like that’s where Louis lives anyway.

Louis reaches out and wraps his fingers around Harry’s wrist. “Good guess,” he says. And, then, “You’ll see.”

~

They squeeze into a booth at a diner on the way home in a slightly more well-lit neighborhood It’s Niall’s idea, both the food and the safer locale.

The bench seat is short, and even though Harry and Louis have one side of it to themselves, their thighs are close, rubbing against each other each time they shift. There’s a pile of chips in the middle of the table and when Harry brings one to his mouth, his elbow brushes Louis’ arm. The little rush that accompanies the touch distracts him and allows time for a wet drop of vinegar to land on his shirt.

Louis’ right palm is flat on the table and Harry’s eyes are having a hard time leaving the flushed skin atop his wrist. He wants to trace the sideways figure eight with his fingers and then his tongue, but the guy with the tattoo gun had gone on and on about the risk of infection and so he contents himself with a heavy stare, hoping Louis can feel it.

Louis turns his head and Harry flicks his gaze up and then down again. Louis drums his fingertips against the tabletop, his dull nails thudding- bah-da-dum.

“It’s so, like, right there,” Liam says and Harry realizes that now everyone is focused on Louis new tat.

“I like it,” Harry says, reaching out and skimming his thumb along the skin above it, nail digging in a bit right under Louis’ knuckles. The motion brings his own tattoo into view.

“People are going to ask questions,” Zayn warns, sipping his diet coke. “Liam’s right. They’re so obvious. Everyone will know they’re a matching set.”

With his free hand, Louis grabs another chip. Still chewing, he says, “That’s kind of the point. They’re our bonding gift, and our mark.” He turns to look at Harry and Harry smiles. Keeping hold of Harry’s gaze he says, “One of our marks.”

The mark on Harry’s neck burns, and he squirms in his seat.

“Oh my god, I’m going to throw up,” Niall says, covering his face with his hands.

Zayn smiles, “At least Harry’s omega boners don’t make you hungry anymore.”

Niall chokes from behind his fingers.

Liam is still focused on their wrists. “Don’t you think this is exactly what you weren’t allowed to do? Didn’t the suits tell you that you had to keep your bonding a secret, or whatever?”

Louis flips his hand and links his fingers with Harry’s. “Well, they can’t stop us from getting tattoos. So… And it’s not like Harry’s got ‘I’m Louis’ omega’ or something obvious like that.”

“That wouldn’t have been very creative,” Harry says. “Even if I were allowed, I’d rather like to leave people guessing, a bit.”

Louis leans over and presses a kiss to Harry’s cheek. “Me, too.”

“Well, nobody’s gonna have to guess anything if you keep this shit up,” Zayn sounds pleased, though, and Harry thinks the trip to the tattoo parlour might’ve brought him ‘round to the idea that Harry’s _really_ committed to this, to Louis.

Harry doesn’t keep up with the conversation after that, instead busying himself by running his thumb back and forth along Louis’ hand and tucking their feet together. The more they touch, the richer and louder Louis’ scent becomes.

He thinks the other boys are making plans for a footie game tomorrow, but the only plans Harry’s concerned about are the plans he has to ravish Louis later. He doesn’t know how Louis is concentrating.

“Why does Harry have the anchor?” Harry refocuses when he hears Liam say his name.

“Cause it goes with the rope…?” Louis speaks the words slowly and raises his voice at the end. A rhetorical question.

“Cause it seems like,” Liam begins again, ignoring Louis’ tone, and Harry already knows how he’s going to finish even before the words are out of his mouth. “It seems like _he_ should be the one with the rope, seeing as how _he’s_ tied to _you_.”

“Excellent, well spotted. We hadn’t even thought of that. Guess we’ll have to go get them done over,” Louis replies, reaching for another chip, even though his mouth is still full with the last.

“You can’t-” Liam says, but Harry interrupts, “We _had_ thought of that Liam. We just… It’s like Louis’ tied to me, too. Bonding does go both ways, you know. Like, he can smell me and read me and he feels miserable when I feel miserable. It’s just the same.”

“It’s not exactly the same,” Louis murmurs roughly. Harry feels himself tense, but then Louis continues, waggling his eyebrows, “My arse doesn’t leak for you.”

Harry pushes out a laugh of a breath. It’s true, but also, “You dick does do tricks for me, though, if you know what I mean.” He squeezes Louis’ fingers.

“Stop, enough,” Niall interrupts. “Too much information about your sex life. I do not need to know this shit.”

“Basic biology, Niall,” Zayn replies, patting Niall on the top of the head. “I’m sure someday you’ll figure it out.”

“Thank you, Zayn,” Harry hears himself say. Zayn catches his eye, lets his gaze fall to Harry and Louis’ clasped hands, and smiles, warm, _genuine_.

Harry relaxes, allowing himself to be swept back up in Louis’ scent and heat, and the smooth skin under his fingertips.  

~

As soon as the other boys hop out and the car pulls off toward their flat, Harry reaches his hand over to palm Louis’ dick through his trousers. It’s soft at first, but after a couple of gentle squeezes, Harry feels it thicken.

Louis reaches down and smacks his arm away. “Do you have a death wish?”

“Yeah,” Harry replies, reaching back into Louis’ lap. “Le petite mort.”

“Not cute.” Louis pushes him away again. “Would you just wait five minutes?”

“I want to blow you,” Harry tells him, this time placing his hand carefully on Louis’ thigh, inches away from what is now a very noticeable boner. “Right now.”

Louis chokes out a breath, half laugh, half annoyed huff. Harry can smell his arousal. He slides his hand up so that the side of his finger rests along the line of Louis’ cock. “Please.”

Louis glances at him sideways, eyes still mostly on the road. “You’ve been horny since they stuck that needle in you. I get it.”

Harry nods. He hasn’t been hard or wet the whole time, but Louis’ cock, Louis’ _knot,_ hasn’t been far from his mind.

“It’s just,” he begins. “You know, seeing your knot all exposed like this.”

“What?!” Louis stutters out. He looks down and touches his cock experimentally. “I’m not even…” He stops. “Oh my _god_ , Harry.”

Harry giggles. “Get it?”

“You arsehole,” Louis mutters. Harry’s laughing full out, now. “You little shit. You tricked me.”

“You were the one who suggested it, actually,” Harry points out. It’s not a lie. Harry picked out the rope and anchor, but it was Louis who decided his rope should be in the shape of an infinity knot.

Louis turns the wheel, pulling up beside their flat. “I can’t believe that you encouraged me to get a sex pun tattooed on my wrist. What will people think?”

Harry lifts Louis’ wrist up to inspect it. The skin is still very, _very_ red. “I think it’s subtle.”

“Subtle, my arse,” Louis returns, wrenching his arm from Harry’s grip.

Harry crawls over and into Louis’ lap. “True, Lou, very true.” He reaches around Louis with his left arm, lifting him a little to squeeze said arse. “You’re arse isn’t very subtle.”

Louis laughs and mimics Harry, moving to dig his fingertips into the flesh of Harry’s bottom. “More subtle than yours, which is starting to stink.”

Harry wriggles a bit- Louis touch _tickles-_ and the fabric of his trousers sticks to the crack his arse. “Starting?” Harry asks, mouth right against Louis’ ear. “I’ve been wet for hours.”

Louis fingers dip lower, sliding of over the space between his cheeks. Harry’s all but certain Louis can feel the dampness even through his trousers. “Still stinky.”

As he says this, Louis wrinkles his nose, but he’s smiling, arousal happy and open, sizzling around both their bodies.

“In that case, I’ll make sure to keep it far away from you.” Harry makes to scoot off him but Louis immediately pulls him back, close, and buries his face in Harry’s neck, nipping gently.

His hand snakes between them, fingers quick and deft as they unbutton Harry’s trousers and tug free his cock. 

“Who’s the eager beaver, now?” Harry asks, mouth muffled by Louis’ hair. He works his hand between them, too, and freeing Louis’ cock easily.

“No beavers around here,” Louis tells him before leaning in for a kiss.

Louis’ been hot for this all night, too, Harry knows. The sting of the needle hadn’t turned him on, not like it had Harry, but seeing Harry permanently marked for him, had been more than enough to keep him interested. Harry’s been watching him watch Harry’s wrist and his own all night.

And that’s where his eyes are now, on his wrist and the fresh tattoo, pressed up against the thick line of Harry’s erection as he pulls Harry off, fingers tight around his base, brushing up against his balls.

“Fuck, _Jesus_ ,” Louis mutters, shifting in his seat. Harry releases his cock and Louis works his hand around both of them without missing a beat.

“Want you inside me,” Harry tells him. He’s tempted to use his hands, which are now at ends to begin to peel off their clothes, to hasten the process.

“No.” Louis shifts again, pressing their foreheads together. Harry moves an arm back between them, his fingers carefully returning Louis’ hand to his dick, while he takes Louis’ cock back into his own palm. Except he’s using his left hand, now, instead of his right and, as he does, Louis gasps. Their tattoos line up, _perfectly_.

“Lou,” he grits out. They match, and they will, _forever._

He tightens his grip on Louis and thinks, _damn, I am good._ Then, because he’s feeling foolishly happy and delightfully horny, he demands again, “Lou? Come _on_. You’ve got to fuck me.”  

“No, not getting your wet arse on my leather seats,” Louis shoots back.

Harry relents, but only because Louis is speeding up his strokes and heat is gathering in his belly and any mome- Harry’s orgasm catches him almost by surprise, pouring over them both.

Louis leans forward to kiss his chin. “Always making messes for me to clean up.”

Harry’s out of breath and mostly blissed out, but Louis’ clearly high on his own power and full of bullshit and Harry needs to prove him _wrong_. So he picks up his pace on Louis’ cock and presses his lips to Louis’ temple, against which he murmurs, wetly, “You’ve got that absolutely backwards.

“The fuck I ahh-” Louis’ cuts off in the middle of his protest, head falling back and hitting his headrest with a soft thud.

“Fuckyou,” he says, like it’s one word, and comes. His seed drips onto Harry’s wrist, stinging and reminding Harry, yet again, that they’re actually doing this, _bonding._

Harry lifts his hand up to lick Louis off it, finger by finger. Louis watches him do so, his smile wide, but his eyes hot.  

He slips his clean arm around to pinch the bottom of Harry’s arse. Harry squeals around his thumb.

Cackling, Louis says, “Love, we’ve just taken the edge off. When we get inside, I’m going to show you what a real knot looks like. Make sure you know what it feels like, too.”

Harry feels his eyebrows shoot up. He likes the sound of that. “Gonna tie me up, then?”

Louis squeezes Harry’s shoulders and bites his own lip. “I might do. You think you need it?”

Harry shrugs and reaches out to open Louis’ door. He hops out, trousers still gaping open, and begins to run unsteadily toward their flat, “Maybe,” he calls over his shoulder. “If you can catch me.”

And Louis does catch him, of course, eventually.

~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm heading off to backpack through the north woods and then visit the in-laws. The next chapter will be up two weeks from yesterday. :) 
> 
>  
> 
> [my tumblr](http://juliusschmidt.tumblr.com)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Louis plan their bonding ceremony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the end, Melanie, my wonderful beta, didn't make me take out any of the sex in this chapter and, I'll be honest, it's more than usual. (She's the best.)

“You can’t stop us. We’re coming into town for the bonding, whether you like it or not,” Harry’s mother insists.

It’s not what Harry wants to hear. Between work- rehearsals and recording and radio interviews and photoshoots- and settling back in together, Harry and Louis haven’t really had much time to discuss their plans for said bonding.

Mostly, Harry’s been hoping Louis will put off setting anything in stone long enough for Harry’s next heat to begin so they’ll be forced do everything in private, an elopement of sorts.  

Beside him Louis mutters into his own mobile, “No, Mum. Don’t plan for the whole week… No, of course I don’t know. It’ll depend on Harry’s… you know…”

Harry takes a deep breath and begins to explain, “Mum, it’s like, the whole ritual is private and kind of messy. I really don’t want you to be around for it. Can’t you wait to come down until after?” He’s trying to keep his tone calm and rational, but he can hear the whine simmering behind his words. He really doesn’t want to entertain- to host a _party_ \- with his heat coming on. He doesn’t know how most omegas do it.

“What about the ceremony?” Her tone is softer, and he knows she’s trying to be understanding. “You’re supposed to exchange vows and presents. It’s what people _do_. And we’d like to be there, to celebrate with you. That’s the tradition, right? For the families to be with the couple right before they bond?”

Harry sighs. He hasn’t really thought about a ceremony, hasn’t really thought about much aside from his upcoming heat and the actual _bonding._ Yeah, he’s not particularly proud of it, but most of his thoughts have revolved around Louis’ knot. 

Beside him, Louis tenses and his shame washes over both of them, distracting Harry for moment. He wonders what Louis’ mum has said to cause such an overwhelming rush of feeling.

Brushing the thought aside for later, he says to his mum, “Well, technically the tradition is for the family to _watch_ the bonding.”

His mother cackles, “Well, if you’re offering, honey.” Then, more seriously she says, “Harry, nobody’s done that in years. But most do have the ceremony. And we’d like to be part of yours.”

“I’m sorry, but we’re not really planning on having one,” Harry tells her, but even as the words come out of his mouth, Louis is saying, “Of course we’re going to have a ceremony, mum, and, of course, you and the girls will be invited.”

Harry turns to look at him and raises his eyebrows in alarm. Louis mouths, “We are, right?”

Harry sighs and shakes his head. To his mother, he says, “How’s Dusty?”

His mother allows herself to be waylaid, for the moment. She always stores of loads of cat news for him. Harry tries not to pay attention as beside him Louis’ quickly swept back up into his own conversation with his own mum.

~

Harry doesn’t bring up the idea of a ceremony again until they’re lying in bed that night, panting and smiling, their stomachs covered in come.

“I don’t want to have a ceremony, not now,” Harry murmurs, using the sheet to wipe off the gooey pool beside his belly button.

Louis pulls himself up onto his elbow, so he’s looking Harry’s face. “What do you mean?”

Even from inches away, Harry can tell that Louis’ heart rate has picked up, racing again before it’s had a chance to fully slow. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes wide, betrayed, maybe. “Why would you say that?”

Harry looks away. In retrospect, Harry can see that his timing is poor and he probably should have said something earlier when his mind was working more quickly, when he didn’t want to pull Louis close and cuddle into his chest.

“I mean, I still want to bond. But I don’t want make a big deal about it right now. My heat is coming up- it’ll probably hit in the next _week._ We don’t really have time to plan a ceremony.”

Louis pushes a piece of hair out of Harry’s face. “The ceremony is part of the tradition. It’s important to me. I want to pledge my life to you in front of my mum and yours and the lads. It doesn’t have to be elaborate. Most people’s happen quickly, just like this.”

Harry closes his eyes and licks his lips. It’s just, Louis looks so serious and Harry hadn’t realized this would be important to him.

“I really want to do this. It’s important to me. To my family. I’ve dreamed of it since I was a little boy,” Louis presses and the emotion behind his words makes Harry’s heart _ache_. Harry usually feels when Louis wants something- the desire ripples between them, it always has. Their connection makes verbal pleas like this seem unnecessary.

So it’s this, Louis turning his feeling into words, something that Harry imagines a person in a normal relationship would do all the time, that does Harry in.

The soft pleading echoes in Harry’s head, Louis’ feelings fully naked before him, and he knows he needs to talk back.

“Um,” Harry stammers. He doesn’t know whose needs to take care of, Louis’ or his own.

“Harry,” Louis pleads, voice pitching higher, closer to panic. “Why don’t you want to do this right? I thought you _wanted_ people to know. Say something, please. Explain to me what’s going on in your head.”

Harry opens his eyes and Louis’ face is still close, closer than before, maybe. Harry can feel his breath coming in almost-pants against Harry’s cheek as he waits for an answer. Harry doesn’t know whether he feels comforted by his closeness or boxed in.

“I do want people to know,” Harry says. He knows the words are coming out slowly, but he can’t seem to move them out any faster. “I want _everyone_ to know.”

Louis nods, but his eyes are still clouded with worry.

Harry takes a deep breath. “I do want to do it right. I don’t just want a family bonding ceremony, but I want the full out wedding afterwards. I don’t want our relationship to be this hidden little thing. I want a featured write-up in a popular magazine. I want the fashionistas to rave about our tuxes and the foodies to talk up our cake.”

“Our cake,” Louis repeats.

Most weddings ceremonies have cake, Harry thinks, all weddings worth going to, at least.

“Yeah, I want a big party.” Harry closes his eyes again, surprised at the words coming out of his mouth. He’s never really thought about this before, never believed he would bond and definitely never imagined that he’d have the means to throw a full-out wedding afterwards, but now that he’s picturing it, he can’t stop. “I want a chocolate fountain and champagne on every table. A live band and fireworks. Maybe we can give our guests puppies as courtesy gifts, you know, like in Bridesmaids. No, I suppose that was the shower in the movie, but still I think that’d be good for us. I’d love our dance floor to be filled with puppies. Everybody tripping over them, but they’re so cute, no one cares.” The images he’s conjuring up dance across the back of his eyelids, almost like a dream.

He is _very_ sleepy.

“I want that, too,” Louis agrees. “I love puppies. And we can, later.”

Harry opens his eyes. Louis is smiling now and Harry’s not sure what’s changed. “What?” he asks.

“We’ll have the biggest, wildest wedding. Later. When we can be out. But for now, we should still do something. For the family.”

Harry chews his lip. He still doesn’t like the idea of a houseful of people here for his heat. “I don’t know…”

Louis must realize what Harry’s thinking, which is new, because he kisses Harry’s cheek and says, “They can get a hotel. They don’t have to stay here.”

Harry nods; he’s getting sleepy. He realizes that he’s not going to win this.

Well, Harry thinks as he drifts off, Harry’s not going to make all the arrangements, even though he’s all but certain that’s his job as an omega. Louis is about to learn the implications of taking on Harry as a different kind of partner.

~

When Harry stumbles into the kitchen the next morning, Louis’ back is turned as he prepares two cups of tea.

He smells good, like sex and sleep and _home_. It’s not early, the clock on the stove showing almost noon, and there’s no reason for Harry to be this tired, still.

“Lou,” he says. The word comes out choked and he clears his throat. Louis whirls around, a smile breaking out across his face. His eyes are bright; he’s clearly far more awake than Harry feels.

“Morning, Haz!” Louis hands him a cup.   

Harry nods at him and takes a sip of tea. It’s not nearly as strong as he expects. He needs to train Louis to make him coffee instead.

“So…” Louis draws out the word, and then takes a breath. “So I was reading about bonding ceremonies on my phone, while you were sleeping. Most people, most _normal_ people have small gatherings. They can be really meaningful though. We could get tattooed again, _during the ceremony._ Or we could fly everyone out to a tropical island, someplace where it would be just us and our families. Or we could redecorate the house, with a theme- I was thinking maybe nautical, turn the front room into a the deck of a ship.”  

Louis hauls himself up to sit on the counter. “I kind of like the last idea best, don’t you?” he asks. “For us?”

Harry blinks at him a few times. He doesn’t really want to have this discussion right now so he takes another sip of tea.

Louis is smiling at him, seemingly oblivious to his reluctance. He can’t be, though, Harry thinks, not really. He has to _feel_ Harry’s distress.

“I’m not, like…” Harry begins. “We’re so busy…”

Louis’ grin widens. “I thought you might say that. But I can do the work, or, like, we have some savings. We could probably pay someone to do most of it.”

“You?” Harry definitely does not trust Louis to do it. “Money runs through your bank account like water and you can barely plan your own outfit in the morning.”

Louis looks down at his shirt- it’s one of Harry’s, announcing a band that he would bet Louis’ never even listened to. “Excuse you,” Louis says. “You all said I had the _best_ fashion sense of any of us, just a few months ago.”  

Harry moves to open the fridge. If he’s going to entertain the idea of Louis planning their bonding ceremony, he’ll need breakfast first.

Louis moves in beside him.  “Okay, you’re probably right. I’m not going to plan it. Maybe our mothers will.”

Harry pulls out a slice of cold pizza and inspects it. He doesn’t think it’s more than a few days old. “No. I’m not asking my mum to design a ship for our front room. It’s too much.”

Louis takes the pizza out of Harry’s hand and nibbles on it. Annoyance wells up in Harry, but settles when Louis proceeds to lift the pizza back to Harry’s mouth, feeding him.

Their eyes meet as Harry chews. The possessiveness of Louis’ gaze sends a shiver down Harry’s spine.

He parts his lips and Louis brings the pizza back in for Harry to take another bite, carefully watching Harry’s lips.

Lots of alphas feed their omegas. It’s, like, a thing for couples, especially traditional couples, Harry knows. He’s seen it happen on television and in films. Usually, the omega is on her knees, begging sweetly.

He’s always thought the gesture a little gross. He’s never seen the connection between his eating habits and his relationship with Louis (or anyone else, at all, really). Now, as Louis pushes bite after bite into Harry’s mouth, Harry reevaulates.

When he’s finished with the pizza, Louis leaves his hand by Harry’s lips and Harry flicks his tongue out to lick the remaining crumbs from his fingertips.

Louis’ breath hitches as Harry bites down on the pad of his thumb and their eyes lock again. Harry steps closer into Louis’ space and lets his hand fall onto the front of Louis’ trousers, covering the heated fabric where his cock is pressing, eager to be set free.

Louis’ hand reaches out, mirroring Harry’s own, and Harry’s cock thickens underneath the pressure. “Yeah?” Louis asks and squeezes.

Harry’s head falls back because “Yeah.”

_Yeah,_ because they’re not talking about the bonding ceremony anymore and Harry has some food in his belly and it’s come directly from Louis’ fingers, Louis’ fingers which are fumbling with Harry’s zip and then his own, tugging out their cocks and pressing them together.

The hot line of his erection and the tight grip of Louis’ palm are their only points of contact. It’s not enough for Harry and he leans forward to bring their mouths together in a firm, wet kiss.

Harry groans when their tongues meet and his hands reach out to clutch at Louis’ shoulders. He’s acutely aware that Louis has begun to stroke them, both of them, the movement of his too-dry fist creating an almost painful friction.

Harry’s hands slide down Louis’ sides pushing his trousers down over his hips. Louis pulls back and against Harry’s lips murmurs, “Yours, too.”

Harry nods, his forehead bumping against Louis’, and pulls his pajama bottoms down easily. The flannel pools around their feet.

Louis’ free hand reaches round to clutch at Harry’s arse, the tips of his fingers close, but not nearly close enough, to Harry’s now aching hole.

He hears a whine. He thinks that it came from him. Six months ago, he might have been embarrassed by the noise. Not anymore. He and Louis are far beyond embarrassment.

“What do you want, my love?” Louis whispers. “ _My mate_.”

A shiver runs through Harry at the word ‘ _mate’_ and the heavy promise Louis has loaded it with.

Harry doesn’t answer aloud. He’s not sure he could if he tried. Instead, he reaches between them and wraps his palm around both their dicks, the edge of his hand lining up with the edge of Louis’ and Louis’ heat pressing even tighter against his own.

Louis grunts, his own hand falling away as he arches into Harry’s touch, the movement pushing Harry’s arse back against the oven. Harry takes all this as a ‘go ahead’ and begins to pull them off in slow. rhythmic. strokes.

Then, finally, Louis’ hand slips closer, pressing into the now wet opening of his arse. Harry’s fist stills on their cocks for a moment and his arse squeezes around the tips of Louis’ fingers.  

“Come on,” Louis pleads, and Harry opens his eyes- which he hadn’t even realized he’d closed- to see that Louis is gazing at Harry’s hand, where it’s loosened its grip.

Harry gives their cocks a short, hard squeeze and shoots Louis a small smile. “You come on,” he replies, arching his hips back so that Louis’ fingers slip just a little more deeply into him.

Louis grunts and heaves Harry up onto the surface of the electric stovetop. It’s cool against his arsecheeks and he cants his hips so that he’s barely touching it, giving Louis better access to his heat.

The distance between them forces to him choose between his cock and Louis’. Louis’ fingers flicking up into him make it an easy choice.

Louis moves forward and presses his mouth to Harry’s jaw. Against it, he hisses, “Hurry up, lovely.”

Harry nods and leans down to press their lips together. As their tongues meet, he speeds up his strokes on Louis’ dick.

Louis smells so good and he’s making this noises in the back of his throat and each time he does the base of Harry’s spine tingles.

What a way to wake up. If could do this _every_ morning... But then, he realizes, he might be able to. Every morning. Forever.

Just as his shoulder begins to ache, from the strain of up and down and up and down, Louis’ fingers twist deeper inside of him, finding _that spot_. And his cock pulses, shooting off a stream of white come, which waterfalls onto his stomach and then plops onto the floor.

His hand stills completely and he can’t find the energy to restart his strokes. He tightens his grip though and he presses another a kiss to Louis’ mouth.

It’s enough. Between them, Louis’ come mingles with his own.

~

Harry is wiping down the stovetop, cleaning off the dried arse-print his slick’d left earlier, when he smells Louis entering the kitchen. Even in the stilted reflection on the front of the oven, Harry can see that he’s carrying a magazine. The bold letters splashed across the front proclaim _The Knot_.

Harry turns and grabs the glossy pages out of his hands. He flips through it, past suits and ties and dresses and diamond studded collars.

“We agreed to do the wedding thing, later.” Harry tries to keep the exasperation from his voice.   

“My mum will handle the food and flowers. And yours has agreed to do the hotel arrangements. You and I will simply be responsible for suits and vows.”

Harry’s eyes narrow and his heart clenches. _The vows._ As the words rattle around in his head, he realizes that _this_ is why he doesn’t want to have a ceremony.

No, he doesn’t want his and Louis’ families thinking about the sex they’ll need to consummate the bond. And, no, he doesn’t really want to take the time to plan all the other pieces- the cleaning and the decorating and the food and the outfits and the hotel reservations. But he really, _really_ does not want to confront the list of promises he’ll be expected to make to Louis.

He can’t _say_ that though. Because he _does_ want to bond with Louis. And he knows now that whatever words they use in their vows, Louis won’t actually expect him to, like, totally submit, or whatever.

Anyway, the vows will need to be said, audience or no.

So softly, he agrees, “Okay.”

And that’s that.

~

Or at least, that’s that until two days before their families are scheduled to arrive. Louis cosies up to Harry in bed, with his iPad and a mischievous grin.

Harry peers at the screen. A man in a bright blue suit drops to his knees, grinning and bearing his neck. Beside him, another man, dressed in slightly less flashy suit, grins back, nostrils flaring. He lifts a silver collar and displays it for the cameraman.

It’s a lovely thing, delicate and diamond studded, much more elegant than most collars. Harry assumes the couple must be very rich, more rich than they will probably ever be. It’s not surprising given how in demand male omegas are, surely, but Harry’s impressed all the same.

He nuzzles into Louis’ side. “What are you watching?” he asks.

Louis’ looking at Harry and probably has been for a while, Harry thinks. So he’s not surprised when Louis replies, “You. I’m watching you watch a couple _just like us_ at their bonding.”

“With this collar,” the standing man- the alpha- says. “I thee bond.”

Louis presses his nose into Harry’s hair and takes an unsteady breath. Harry feels the rise and fall of his chest as though it were his own.

“And I promise,” he continues. “To be your faithful alpha, to love, guide, and protect you, forsaking all others, To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness or in health, to love and to cherish 'till death do us part.”

He leans down and latches the collar around the other man’s neck. They share a small smile and Harry can’t help himself; he lifts his head to press a kiss to Louis’ jaw.

This will be them in just a few days, he thinks.

The omega blinks questioningly and his alpha nods. “Go ahead.”

He lifts a chain, shows it to the camera. It’s equally beautiful as the collar, matching silver and almost shimmery as it moves. He hands it to the alpha. “With this chain,” he says. “I thee bond.”

The alpha attaches it to the collar, his grin bursting off his face and onto the camera.

The omega stops and looks into the alpha’s eyes. Even through the screen, Harry can feel the passion that flows between them in that moment. The alpha nods.

The omega continues, “And I promise to be your faithful omega.” Harry feels himself nodding, hears himself saying these words to Louis. “To love, serve, and obey you, forsaking all others. To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness or in health, to love and to cherish ‘till death do us part.”

Harry reaches over and closes out of the window. Louis hands slacken as he allows Harry to remove the iPad from his grip and lay it flat on top of the duvet.

“I’m not promising that,” he says.

Louis eyes are on his hands. “We haven’t talked about vows. That’s why I pulled that up. I thought we probably should.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to serve you or obey you,” Harry explains. “Like, I think that-”

“Whatever you want is fine,” Louis assures him. Pressing kisses to his cheeks and nose and forehead. “It’s fine. I just want you to say the ‘I thee bond’ part, that’s all I want. That’s all that’s important.”

Harry scoots away. “What we promise each other is important, too,” Harry protests. “It is. And, like, I don’t want to promise you anything you’re not going to promise me and vice versa. Like, I think that I should promise to protect you and you should promise to serve me as well, you know?”

“Sure,” Louis agrees, fingers reaching for the bottom of Harry’s shirt. The brush of skin on skin tickles and Harry has to bite back a giggle. _This is serious. This is important to him._

Harry pushes Louis’ hands away. “Focus,” he says.

Louis pouts, though Harry’s not sure why. He’s not even horny; Harry’d be able to smell it on him. “Why don’t you write out what you think. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

Harry swallows and scoots farther away. This isn’t what he wants and he aches for Louis to understand that. He wants for Louis to care, to want to choose the promises with him.

“What’s wrong?” Louis asks, shortly. “You’re upset. What did I do?”

Harry sighs. “Like,” he begins, but then stops because he’s really not sure- like, he can’t force Louis to help him with this.

“Why won’t you tell me?” Louis demands. “Why is it so hard for you to just tell me what you’re thinking?” His voice is shrill and his irritation is now zipping through both of them.

Harry closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “I want to make you happy,” he says. The words are heavy and he has to push each one out. What he’s about to say isn’t going to make Louis happy, not right away, anyway. “I can feel like, you know, in my body, when you’re upset. And so it’s hard to say things I know will make it worse.”

Louis blinks at him and then in a hot rush of words replies, “I know what you mean. I can usually tell when you’re upset, too. It’s fucking awful, being honest when I know it’ll hurt you. But you have to be honest. That’ll make me happier. In the long run. I want you to tell me what’s going on with you.”

Harry nods. He feels shaky all over, but he decides to try and do what Louis’ asking. “I want us to write the vows together. I want us to sit down and talk through each promise. I want to know what your expectations are of me.”

Louis eyes narrow, but he’s not upset. He must think that Harry’s leaving something out, and Harry supposes he is. He adds, “And vice versa. I want you to know what my expectations are of you.”

Louis shakes his head, gaze remaining sharp on Harry’s face. He presses their foreheads together and whispers, “You’re still nervous I want to turn you into my, like, houseslave or something. You’re still worried that I won’t let you live like you want.”

Harry bites his lip. Louis’ not wrong.

“I swear, I don’t want that. How many times do I have to say it?”

Harry doesn’t know. He thinks he might need to be reminded of it every few days for the rest of their lives. And he knows that’s unreasonable, but it’s also possibly necessary.

Instead of addressing Louis’ question, Harry says, “I want other people, especially our families, to understand that we’re going to be different, too. I don’t want your mum expecting me to like, wait on you hand and foot and kneel or follow you around on a gold plated leash.”

Louis laughs. “She doesn’t expect that.”

Harry lies back. “Okay,” he says, though he doesn’t believe him. “But just to be sure. Can we work on these together? Make them clear and _ours_?”

“Of course, we can, love,” Louis says, laughter still lilting his voice. “You just had to ask.”

He kisses Harry’s forehead. “See, being honest with me wasn’t that bad. You should try it more often. Easy peasy.”

Harry lets himself be kissed. It did turn out okay, he supposes, but not quite ‘easy peasy.’

~

Harry sets down the pen. He watches as it rolls a bit before settling. Louis’ knee is pressed up against his underneath the table.

The air is tense between them and Harry feels a little raw from arguing. But the vows are finished and they’re both satisfied.

“Do you want to read them through?” Even as he says it his eyes are scanning the page and he begins to play the words back quietly in his mind.

“No.” Louis’ not looking at the vows. He’s looking at Harry. “They’re perfect. You’re perfect.”

Harry shoulders stiffen. “Lou, you said you cared about this. You literally promised, like, fifteen minutes ago, that you were going to take this seriously.”

Louis kisses his cheek. “I do care. I am serious. I think it’s good.”  He tucks a curl behind Harry’s ear. “Not as good as you, though.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Harry replies, turning to look at him. “You really feel good about these? Even though they don’t include that traditional piece you wanted from your mum’s?”

Louis nods. “Yeah, after you explained, it makes sense why you don’t want us to promise to always obey each other. I said I’d do it for you, too, but I guess I can see how it’d be hard for you to ask, especially in front of other people.”

Harry sighs and leans back in his chair, his knee pulling back from Louis’. “I just felt like you wanted it in there cause you secretly sort of enjoy when I take orders from you. I don’t want you to expect that I’ll do that all the time.”

Louis huffs out a breath and Harry feels the anger building back up between them. That’s not what he meant to do. “I already said that’s not what it’s about, Harry. I already said that and you said you believed me. I’ve just never heard of a bonding that doesn’t include the “obey” promise and it felt wrong to leave it out. But I’m fine with it. Jesus.”

Harry forces himself to relax. “Yeah. Okay. Yeah.”

Louis turns his body and their knees bump again. “Are you really okay?”

Harry nods. Then, he smiles and leans forward to rest his chin and Louis’ shoulder. Slowly, his arms come up and wrap around Louis’ middle. His arse is at an awkward angle in the chair, but he’s wrapped in Louis comforting scent. Against the nape of Louis’ neck, he murmurs, “I’m okay. I’m more than okay. It’s just hard, sometimes, you know?”

He feels Louis nod, as his arms pull Harry in more tightly. “I know. I love you.”

Louis squeezes him tighter still, so tight that he pulls Harry off-balance and, with a little maneuvering on Harry’s part, into his lap. They’re both laughing once Harry’s settled on top of him.

Louis presses his face into Harry’s neck. “I love you, too,” Harry says.

~

Later, after lunch and a solid attempt at cleaning the bathroom and the front windows, Louis pulls Harry back into his lap and presses their foreheads together.

“You’re sexy with a toilet brush in your hand,” Louis says, breath tickling Harry’s lips. A shiver runs down Harry’s spine. He shifts his hips and grinding down onto Louis’ dick which is already stiffening.

“Not nearly as sexy as you looked on your tiptoes trying to reach the top of that window with newspaper,” he replies. He’s sure he’s right, too. Louis hadn’t seen the arch of his own back or the sliver of tan skin revealed as shirt rode up above his waist.

Harry leans down and presses their lips together. The kiss starts soft, and Harry can tell that Loius is holding back, so he deepens it and slides his fingers into Louis’ hair. Louis follows Harry’s lead, meeting him press for press, the roughness of his stubble rubbing hard against Harry’s cheek.

When Harry pulls back, they’re both panting slightly and Harry can feel that Louis is as desperately hard as Harry himself. He bares his neck and waits for Louis to lean in for bite.

But Louis remains still, watching him. After a moment he says, very soft, “I meant it, you know.”

Harry leans in for another kiss.

This time when Harry ends the kiss, he keeps his face close so that when Louis speaks he can feel his breath on his lips and chin. “I meant that you can tell me what to do. I want to obey you, too, sometimes.”

Harry stills. Briefly the conversation he’d had with Nick about sexual, erm, _deviation_ , among omegas crosses his mind. He’d never thought much about bossing Louis around, though it’d happened a time or two before, sort of naturally.

He’s thinking about it now.

Louis is, too. He’s waiting, motionless, the usual movement that flows through his body is completely quiet. There’s a deliberateness about Louis’ suggestion and it makes the stillness in his body feel filled with potential.

He’s waiting for Harry to take the lead.

“Yeah, okay,” Harry agrees.

The thing is, Louis’ good at taking care of Harry. He’s always been careful to do so, especially since things changed between them, since he’d found out that Harry was an omega.

Near and during Harry’s heats, Louis’ so attentive to Harry, to his needs andhis desires. Harry hasn’t given him the same sort of attention, not for a long time.

“Take off your trousers and your pants,” he says, watching Louis’ face carefully.

Louis watches him back and doesn’t move. Harry raises an eyebrow and Louis’ pushes at Harry’s shoulders playfully. “Get off me, then.”

Harry laughs. “Hey, I’m giving the orders here,” he says, but he uses the table to hoist himself up so that he’s standing beside Louis’ chair.

Louis stands, too, and they’re close, nose to nose, eyes locked.

Harry listens to the sound of Louis’ zip coming undone and then he feels Louis squirm out of his jeans, legs kicking against Harry’s as he does so. They rustle as they fall to the floor. Louis stays still after that and Harry loses himself for a moment in his eyes, as vast and blue as the sky over the sea.

Harry takes a breath and looks down. Louis hadn’t been wearing any pants and his cock hangs, large and full and pink between them, just barely brushing the rough fabric of Harry’s own jeans.

Harry drops to his knees and Louis exhales loudly. For a moment, Harry just takes it in, the smooth head, glistening at the tip, the thin folds of skin around the shaft and the thick base. He’s got more girth than Harry, even though Harry’s big for an omega, and Harry appreciates every inch of him. Harry noses at his smooth, flushed skin and then breaths in his musk.

“Enjoying yourself?” Louis asks, breathily. Harry looks up at him and sees that his smile is bright, but strained.

Harry smiles back. “Quiet. I didn’t say you could talk.”

Louis fishmouths. And Harry raises an eyebrow. “And shut your mouth. I’ll let you know when you can open it again.”

Louis lips press together and he shakes his head, strained smile still in place.

Harry takes another deep breath and reaches a hand up to grip Louis’ cock. It’s hot between his fingers and Harry feels his arse twitch.

Louis continues to stand still and Harry’s impressed. He’s better at taking orders than Harry would have thought and much, much better at quieting himself and his body than Harry would’ve believed.

Harry feels as though that energy has been sent his way. Harry pats Louis’ hip and then run his fingers over his thigh.

He lets go of Louis’ of cock. “Touch yourself,” he says. His voice doesn’t hold the certainty that Louis’ does when he takes charge, Harry knows. To his own ears, he sounds cheeky and awkward. It’s uncomfortable, unfamiliar, ordering Louis about like this, but in a good way.

Louis grabs his cock, but then he keeps his hand still. Harry meets his eyes and sees the question in them, the question and the trust.

A shiver runs through him and he tries not to think about the throbbing of his arse as it slickens up in expectation. He wants this to be about Louis. Just about Louis, for once.

“Louis, show me how you like it,” Harry instructs, eyes returning to Louis’ hand resting around his dick.

Louis squeezes himself, but instead of doing as Harry has asked, he replies, “You know how I like it, Haz.”

Harry feels a certainty, a pull of power in his gut, as he shoots back, “I asked you to show me. I need to see how you want it, _now._ ”

He’s delighted to hear the evenness in his voice. And even more delighted to see Louis relax and begin to move his hand in slow, hard strokes Harry looks up to meet his eyes again. “Good,” he says.

Louis smiles, and Harry takes in the flush of his face and feels himself grin in return.

He places a hand over Louis’ and follows him pull after pull after pull.

Louis’ breath hitches and a little whine escapes him. Harry tightens his grip and then lets his hand drop away.

“Let go and let me.” His voice sounds steadier than he feels, his body trembling a bit with the power and energy of having this much control.

Lots of times, especially during heat, Harry has little to no control of the situation. Louis’ wonderful, knows exactly what Harry likes and what he needs, and when he’s unsure, he asks. Harry appreciates that. But even those situations where he’s telling Louis what he’s aching for, Harry doesn’t feel in control, not fully at least, not like this. And when he and Louis fuck outside of his heat, they’ve fallen into a pattern, they share power, or Louis takes it. And that works for them.

Most of the time.

This is nice, too.

He makes his strokes quicker than Louis’ had been and lets his free hand slide from where it sits on Louis’ thigh to stroke Louis’ balls playfully.

Louis groans and reaches out, arms flailing, to steady himself on the back of the chair behind him. “Fuck, Harry. You’re doing so good.”

Harry smiles to himself and slows his hand. He glances up, hoping to catch Louis’ gaze, but Louis’ eyes are closed. Harry murmurs, so softly that Louis will have to strain to hear, “Hey, now. _You’re_ doing good, Lou. Following all my instructions and, you know, being so so sexy.”

The words come out stilted between the shallow pants that Harry didn’t even realize he was making. He shifts his weight. His pants are nearly soaked. He hadn’t realized how horny this was making him.

“You smell so fucking good, Harry,” Louis whispers. His voice is so rough. Harry’s only heard it like this after a particularly vigorous blowjob or when they’ve performed several nights in a row. And both the words themselves and the grind of them as they leave Louis’ mouth make his dick jump and his arse tighten.

“Keep quiet, please,” he asks. He wants to keep hold of the situation and his own arousal. He won’t be able to if Louis keeps talking.

Louis does as Harry asks, even though Harry can feel his usual chatter welling up inside him, compliments and requests and nonsense words growing inside of him, building at pace with his orgasm.

After a few moments of vigorous pumping, back and back and back, when Harry’s arm is starting to ache and his free hand has returned to its earlier resting place, his dull nails digging into the flesh of Louis’ thigh, Louis erupts.

His hands tug at Harry’s hair and he whines out, “Jesus, Harry.”

Harry leans forward just in time to catch Louis’ come on tongue.  Harry holds him there, in his mouth, loosely, until his shuddering ceases and his fingers relax their grip on Harry’s hair.

Louis stumbles into the chair and looks down at Harry who still on his knees. “Come here,” he says. “Let me help you.”

Harry shakes his head. “I’m still in charge.” Louis frowns as Harry finishes. “And I want you to watch me.”

He bites his lips and looks down as he slowly, very, very slowly, unzips his jeans. They’re tight, and he’s going to have to concentrate to make this sexy.

He lifts the hem of his shirt, with light fingertips, dragging it halfway up his chest to reveal his belly.

“So pretty,” Louis murmurs. Harry looks up to take in his relaxed posture and flushed face. He’s grinning at Harry, eyebrows raised expectantly.

Harry giggles, honest to god _giggles_ , as he pulls his shirt over his head. The neckline is wide and thankfully doesn’t catch in his hair. He wants to look _sexy_ and so he shimmies his shoulders, winking dramatically at the end in case Louis needs this little strip tease to be a joke.

He tugs his jeans down slowly, peeling back the fabric to reveal his thighs, inch by inch, his cock bouncing a bit as he goes. The slick is sticky between his arse and thighs and Louis’ gaze is heavy and warm when Harry bends over to free his ankles and feet.

Naked, he stands in front of Louis’s seat, shoulders back and face upturned to bare his neck, which is covered in Louis’ bites. “Look at me,” he says though he knows that Louis already is.

He places one hand on the table and turns his body so that Louis can see his arse clearly. That’s what he wants on display. With his free hand he begins to jerk himself off. He has trouble keeping his pulls even and rhythmic because all his focus is on the twitching of his empty, leaking arse.

“Can I?” Louis asks, reaching out a hand. Harry nods and gasps, “Please.”

Louis’ hand passes, careful and warm, over one cheek before he slips two fingers inside of Harry and begins to thrust, immediately matching the tempo of Harry’s hand on his cock.

Even though his neck is beginning to ache, Harry keeps his head turned and his eyes locked on Louis. His fringe is sweaty and sticking to his forehead and the little cowlick that he works so hard to keep tamed is poking up at the back. Out of the corner of his vision, Harry can see the movement of Louis arm as he pushes in and out and in and out.

“I’ve got you. You’re gonna make it,” Louis murmurs and Harry realizes the arm he’s using to hold himself up has begun to shake. He tightens his grip on his cock and speeds up his strokes. At the same moment, Louis twists his finger and Harry groans.

“Oh fuck,” Harry chokes. His arse twitches and his cock jerks, both now wet and becoming wetter still.

Louis arms reach out and wrap ‘round Harry’s waist, pulling him down on to Louis’ lap, so that he can bury his face in Harry’s neck. Harry closes his eyes and breathes in Louis’ scent, which is mingled with his own and with sex and sweat.

He opens his eyes again, and sees the vows scribbled on out the table in front of him. It hits him hard: they’re going to bond. Louis loves him, loves _Harry_ , and is ready to be his alpha.

“Lou?” he murmurs.

Louis hums against Harry’s neck.

“I’m so glad you’re you,” Harry tells him. His voice is soft and the words feel like a secret, a treasure he’s offering for Louis take, to if he wants. 

Louis hums again and then he says, “I’m glad you’re you, too.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> my [tumblr](http://juliusschmidt.tumblr.com).


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